


We're Not a Clan, We're Pack

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Welcome to PHU, Future Fic, Healer Danny Mahealani, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: Stiles is hurt, Danny is back, and Derek swears he’s a werewolf, not Clan, whatever that is. In the end, it doesn’t matter, does it? Pack is Pack.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 9
Kudos: 155





	We're Not a Clan, We're Pack

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Merry Christmas to me? I started this fic months ago, and the Fullmoon prompt I started it for was long lost and never really appeared. But. This was the TW/PHU fusion that I really wanted to write, with Stiles as an Emergent Mage, and Danny as a Healer, and Derek not even knowing he's Clan. I had fun with this, because I was able to create a fic in the original world I created, and have fun with a bit of Sterek shippiness and pack dynamics while I was at it.
> 
> This is hot off the keyboard. I tried, but typos may have slipped through.

Stiles wakes in a hospital bed, feeling like he’s been hit by a truck and then tried to surf behind it by holding on with his left hand.

He’d say it feels like he had his arm ripped entirely off, but if it were gone, he’s pretty sure it wouldn’t hurt this much. No. Wait. Phantom pain, that’s a thing, right? He flexes his fingers, relieved when they brush against his chest. He still has an arm. It just hurts like ever-loving fuck.

He opens his eyes slowly, wary of the bright light, but the room is dim, mostly lit by the readouts on beeping machines that surround him. His left arm is throbbing and heavy, wrapped in a thick cast that lies uncomfortably against his chest. He reaches for it with his good hand, and makes a noise when that tugs on the IV stuck under the skin of the back of his hand.

“You’re awake.”

That’s… not the voice Stiles expects to hear. At all.

“Danny?”

“Mm-hm.” Danny hitches his chair closer, coming into view from the shadows. He has a scruff on his face that Stiles doesn’t remember ever seeing before, and it looks odd. Makes him look older, like he’s grown up more than the rest of them, since he left Beacon Hills.

“What are you doing back?” Stiles, wedges his good elbow underneath him, does his best to push himself to sitting. In turn, Danny gets a hand on his shoulder, shoves him back like it’s nothing and pins him to the mattress. “Damn it,” Stiles mutters.

“I’ll get the bed, it’s better for you than trying to sit up on your own. Just relax for a minute.” Danny reaches behind Stiles’s head, then the bed comes to life with a click and a whir, and in a moment, Stiles is sitting up. Danny takes his own seat again, leans back as he looks up at Stiles. “And no, I’m not here to wait on you hand and foot. But yes, I’m here because Jackson got in touch with me. And Lydia.”

That those two would mention to Danny that Stiles was hurt makes sense.

That being enough reason for Danny to come back to Beacon Hills doesn’t make sense at all.

“More info please.” Stiles waves at his head. “Pretend I’m still under the influence of morphine or anesthesia and explain better.”

Danny snorts. “I saw you under the influence of the anesthesia and now everyone in the hospital thinks you’ve got an incredibly vivid imagination. Except for Beatrice—the night nurse, who happens to be a Weather Witch and apparently has personal experience with Dreamwalkers, so she just thinks you’re trying to drag Beacon Hills into insanity. And Dr. Hill, who told Lydia to get me.”

Stiles blinks at that list of information, tries to parse the words coming out of Danny’s mouth, because from everything he knows, most of those words should not be coming out of Danny’s mouth. “Weather… what?” He tries to play it off like it doesn’t make sense.

Danny grins broadly enough that his dimples crease. “Don’t pretend to be an idiot, Stiles. I’ve known you’re a Mage since before you did. You… you’re drenched in it. I’m surprised you weren’t lighting fires with your brain when we were five. I’m not even sure how Jackson survived childhood, the way he used to taunt you.”

“You’re Talented.” Stiles stops there, because he doesn’t know what kind of Talent Danny is, and there’s just too much to assimilate. The idea that Danny could tell he was a Mage in the first place. The idea that Jackson and Lydia know that Danny’s some kind of Talent. The idea that Danny’s back here because of that Talent and because of Stiles. “Are you Clan?”

Danny shakes his head. “It’s complicated. Do you want the explanation of my family lineage, or why I’m here, first?”

Both. Stiles really, really wants both.

“Why you’re here, but that’s not getting you out of the rest,” Stiles decides. “It’s been eight years since you graduated early and went off to college a year before the rest of us could. I figured you were done with Beacon Hills.”

“I thought I was, too,” Danny admits. “I have enough younger siblings, I figured they’d stick around, and they have. And they’ve stayed out of trouble better than I ever did, which is what we’re supposed to do. But I kept in touch with Jackson and Lydia. I had to. And when you got hurt, they asked me to come back.”

“Why?” That’s all good and useful information, but Stiles still doesn’t get the reason behind any of it. None of it makes sense.

Danny raises his hand, slowly lowers it to cover Stiles’s right forearm. Fingers wrap around, press in slightly, as Danny closes his eyes.

Thin black lines spread out, leaking warmth under Stiles’s skin, spreading bliss in their wake. Danny releases him, and Stiles gasps, shivering when Danny pulls back.

“You’re a werewolf?” Stiles yells, and Danny claps a hand over his mouth, leans in close.

“Yell a little louder, why don’t you?” Danny lets him go, pushes to his feet. “And no, not exactly. You’re Emergent, but I know you’ve researched Talent, right?”

“Mages, Clan, Empaths, Healers, and Dreamwalkers,” Stiles says quickly. “Plus Emergent Talents, which can take pretty much any shape, but are usually Mages of some kind. There are legendary Talents, and there are some that—”

“Follow a single line. Like Mages who control the weather and are known as Weather Witches. Or Clan who have only one form—”

“Like werewolves,” Stiles finishes Danny’s sentence for him. “But our werewolves are more like ones from fairy tales than Clan, because last I knew, Clan couldn’t infect someone else with a bite.”

Danny makes a face, takes a step back. “That’s where the Lineage complications come in.Once upon a time there was a Clan girl who preferred the form of a wolf above all others, and there was a Giver of Pain who loved her. Their children turned out to be unique.”

“You mean once upon a time a millennia ago,” Stiles says slowly.

“Something like that. Or maybe a few hundred years, the details are blurry.” Danny waves a hand. “It’s the kind of story my grandmother told us when we were kids, with the whole sing-song fairy tale vibe. The point is, he was from a Healing Lineage, and she was Clan, and they genetically merged to create the line of werewolves you now know and love as the Hale family. Which is why the Hales are the only ones where some wolves—the ones who have a specific spark of magic—can infect others and turn them. Something happened because their ancestor wasn’t a traditional Healer. But at the same time, that’s why Hale wolves can take pain, which isn’t exactly a normal Clan ability.”

“So you’re a Hale.” Stiles thinks he has this figured out. Sort of.

Danny shakes his head. “I’m a Mahealani. And lucky for you, I’m the Healing kind, not the pain-giving kind. And if it weren’t for me, you probably would be dead.”

Oh.

That’s sobering.

“Maybe you should’ve led with that,” Stiles mutters.

Danny sinks down into his chair again. He reaches for Stiles, and Stiles does his damnedest not to flinch away when Danny touches the fingers of his left hand. He can both see and feel the fingers, and it’s still kind of a relief that the arm wasn’t ripped off. But at the same time, it still hurts like someone tried to.

Danny closes his eyes and exhales, and with the spread of black lines across Stiles’s skin, bliss settles into his bones.

Stiles groans loudly. “God, that is better than sex. I mean. Sex is good, right? But have you ever been in so much pain and then it was just gone? Like, are you fixing everything so I don’t have to have a cast anymore, too?”

Danny huffs, the sound strained. “Healing doesn’t fix everything. You still endured trauma; you still have to heal from that. But I can help with the pain, and hey, your bone isn’t crushed and you didn’t end up with pins to hold everything in place, so you’re welcome for that.”

Stiles feels like he’s floating, that tiny touch of Danny’s fingers to his the only thing pinning him in place. “Thank you,” he says.

“I’d say it’s nothing, but it’s been a hell of a lot more than nothing,” Danny mumbles. “I flew on a red-eye to get here, after Lydia managed to convince someone they needed me, so I could leave my own hospital.”

“You’re a doctor?”

Danny snorts softly again. “No. I’m their IT guy. It gives me an excuse to be around at all hours, in case someone needs my Talent there, and my boyfriend’s a resident. So it works out. But Dr. Hill here knows exactly who I am, and she pulled strings to get me here and into the O.R. with you. She had to arrange it so no one mundane was in the room, since they were struggling to stabilize you. Whatever it was that hit you tried to shred you from the inside out. You’re going to be exhausted for days, but most of you is back together again. The arm was the worst. Like someone put it in a blender. Crushed bones. I had to rebuild them from memory. I knew taking that anatomy class was a good thing. And Adam made me take sculpting. That was even better. IfI can sculpt bones out of clay, I can sculpt them out of bone dust, too. Inside your body. Without breaking important blood vessels.”

“I’m impressed.” That’s putting it mildly, but Stiles is hard-pressed to find better words than that.

“You should be.”

Danny’s voice drifts, and Stiles isn’t sure if that’s his hearing, or the way Danny’s speaking. Either way, Stiles can’t capture words to respond right now, so he makes a soft noise, and Danny makes one back at him.

Stiles falls asleep with the warmth of Danny’s Talent curling through him, heating him from the inside out.

#

Stiles wakes into a haze of bliss. Derek-inspired bliss, not Danny, and he can tell the difference from the way the warmth shivers around his bones. When he blinks into the light, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much. “Stop,” he rasps.

“Feeling better?” Derek withdraws, and Stiles takes stock of the way the pain seeps back in.

He no longer feels the ache down to his bones. “It’s an improvement. Danny helped,” Stiles says.

“Danny?” Derek furrows his brow.

That’s not the reaction Stiles expected. “Danny Mahealani,” he says slowly. “Jackson’s best friend. Healer.” When Derek continues to look confused, Stiles stresses the next words. “Your cousin?”

“My what?”

“Or something like that.” Stiles reaches for Derek’s hand with his good hand, tangling their fingers together. “Maybe a hundred times removed, I don’t know. Oh, come on,” he says, frustrated. “I know it’s been years, but you have to remember Danny. Everybody loves Danny.”

“I remember Danny,” Derek mumbles dryly. “I spent several years listening to you talk about his dimples.”

“That was before you and I were a we,” Stiles points out. It pulls sharply on his IV to do it, but he raises Derek’s hand to his lips and presses a dry kiss to the back of his fingertips. “I swear that there is no attraction left there anymore. Besides. He’s dating a doctor. I don’t even register on his radar and never did.”

Derek grumbles under his breath. “Didn’t know he was in town,” he says softly. “Or that he’d come to see you. He’s not related to me.”

Stiles licks his lips, opens his mouth. Closes it again. “Huh.”

The door opens after a sharp rap of knuckles. Derek shoves his chair back, making space as a petite woman enters, a taller man in nurse’s scrubs following behind. The man’s ID hangs forward as he moves past Stiles to check his IV—his name is Amir. The woman stops in front of Stiles and smiles slightly. “Mr. Stilinski. You’re looking much better than I expected.”

He wiggles his fingers where the cast still rests heavily against his chest. “Apparently I’m feeling better than I should, according to the story Danny told me.”

She holds out her hand. “I’m thankful for Mr. Mahealani’s aid in the OR. I’m Dr. Kumiko Hill, and I’m quite surprised we haven’t met before. Why haven’t you looked into the network of Talents available here in the Beacon Hills area?”

Stiles glances at Derek, his lips pressed together. “I uh… didn’t know there was a network. Or a large number of Talents working for the hospital which, in retrospect, explains a lot. I thought it was kind of a hidden, underground thing. Most of the research I’ve done has both Lineage and Emergent Talents staying in hiding, as much as possible. Something about being burned at the stake back in Salem, and figuring that modern witch hunts could get much more creatively painful.”

“So you’ve relied upon the internet for your support groups.” Dr. Hill nods thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense for your generation, and as an Emergent Talent.” She holds up a hand, and Amir pauses in whatever he’s doing behind Stiles, by the IV stand. “Do you want to go home?”

“If that’s an option, hell yes,” Stiles says quickly. “Is it an option?”

Dr. Hill glances at Derek. “It’s an option as long as you have someone with you. I understand that your partner is Clan—”

Derek’s brow furrows just before he interrupts. “I’m a werewolf,” he says quietly. “Alpha.”

One eyebrow rises as Dr. Hill looks back to Stiles. “I see. I would recommend that your friend also accompany you. Just in case his Talent is needed.”

“Do you think my bones are going to melt?” Stiles quips. Or at least, he thinks it’s a quip, but Dr. Hill isn’t laughing.

“We don’t know what hit you,” she says slowly. “It’s not any kind of Talent we’re familiar with, and we can only assume that the decay will not start all over again. However, the destruction began inside your body and exploded outwards. If your pain levels increase abruptly, it may mean that you are in grave danger. I’d feel far more comfortable having a Healer nearby.”

Derek’s hand goes tight in Stiles’s.

“If you have his contact information then sure, our guest room is open for Danny and he’s more than welcome.” Stiles answers for both of them; Derek’s grip remains strong enough that Stiles knows he isn’t pleased, but at least he isn’t growling. This means there’s still a chance to reason with him. Explain.

Stiles thought they were long past the explanations needed phase. And it’s not usually him needing to do the explaining, either.

“Amir, please remove the IV and get him his clothes. I’ll take care of readying your paperwork, and once you’ve signed everything, Amir can come get that.” Dr. Hill makes notes on the chart she carries. “There are no special instructions other than to follow up with me in two weeks so that we can check on your arm, and to rest as much as possible. Your body took an intense beating, and while you are healed in many ways, you still need to heal the trauma sustained.”

“Danny mentioned.”

Dr. Hill smiles slightly. “He seems like a good friend. I’m glad he was able to come, and I’m quite certain he’ll take good care of you.” She pauses when she reaches the door. “You have friends who’ve been asking after you, and I haven’t wanted to flood your room when I’m certain you’re exhausted. Do you agree to my letting them know that you’re being released and they can reach you at home in a few hours?”

“That’ll be fine,” Derek says, voice low. “They all have keys.”

Dr. Hill’s smile does. “Of course they do. Clan.”

Neither Stiles nor Derek corrects her again.

Stiles can’t watch as Amir pulls the needle from the back of his hand. Instead he stares at Derek, but Derek’s gaze has drifted, looking at the window, his brow furrowed and lips pressed thin. “Hey,” Stiles says softly, and Derek makes a sound of acknowledgement, but doesn’t turn.

“We’ll talk when we get home,” Derek finally says, and Stiles lets it go. It’ll be easier when they’re private, although it’s not like it’ll be easy at all.

#

As long as Derek has a hand on his elbow, Stiles is able to walk into the house. When Derek steps away, the pain seeps back in, leaving his calves cramping and knees aching. There are sharp jabs in his hips, and Derek brings him both painkillers and ice when Stiles asks. He’d rather have the wolf-inspired pain removal, but Stiles knows that isn’t a tenable solution long term. Derek needs to recharge.

Derek helps settle Stiles on the couch with ice under his ass, a tall glass of water, and the remote easily within reach. He kisses Stiles on the forehead, touches his cheek, then retreats. Stiles hears footsteps going up the back stairs, and for a moment he thinks about following.

His hips hurt when he tries to move, so he discards that idea.

Instead he picks up his phone. _Are we going to talk?_ he texts.

_Later. I’m tired. I need a nap._ Derek’s texts are as curt as his speech is when he doesn’t know how to express himself.

Stiles knows that Derek can be expressive. He’s heard long, slow, soft sentences, whispers that glide from one to another, sweet words that leave Stiles’s heart aching in pleasant ways. They’ve had long conversations on road trips, talking over each other in a rush to get to the next topic.

But sometimes, when he’s hurt or processing, Derek returns to the one or two word answers.

Like now.

Stiles flicks on the TV and drifts as he watches. He’s not really tired enough to sleep anymore, but he’s not actually engaged in the show, either. There’s a bone deep level of exhaustion throughout his body, and his arm feels heavy where the cast lies against him. The throb echoes his heartbeat, and he finds himself breathing with it, drifting on the cadence.

He jerks upright when the lock on the front door turns, and the door slides open.

“Hello?” Danny calls out quietly. “Jackson gave me his key.”

A thump upstairs, and Derek comes down, reaching the living room from the back at the same time as Danny comes in from the front.

Danny pauses, one hand raised. “Hey.”

Derek growls.

Both hands come up this time, and Danny holds his ground. “I’m not a threat,” he says firmly.

“Derek’s pissed off because he’s just figured out he’s been in the dark about something,” Stiles says. He uses his good hand to try to leverage himself to sitting up straight. “To be fair, I’ve apparently been in the dark about some of it, too, but this is the time we need to talk. And I need to figure out what hit me before it hits anyone else in the Pack.”

A sudden grin blooms in Danny’s expression. “I’m glad the Pack’s doing well. It’s been good for Jackson. And Lydia.”

There’s a sour twist in Stiles’s gut. “Yeah, well, we’re just a ragtag group of random Talents doing our best to create what Derek needs around him. I was just under the impression that no one really knew what we were other than me.” Derek’s hand is heavy on his shoulder as he rests on the arm of the couch next to Stiles. “Which is why I haven’t exactly talked about my research,” Stiles clarifies. “To anyone.”

“I get it.” Danny moves slowly, taking the chair on the other side of the room. He sits on the edge, leaning forward, his tall frame folded in a way that makes him seem as if he acquiesces to Derek’s Alphaness without being subservient. Stiles appreciates the nuance of the gesture. “I take it Derek—”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek says slowly, sounding a little confused.

“Which is absolutely true and no one is disputing it,” Stiles says quickly. “It just turns out that werewolf is a highly variable term that can change based on whose family you’re talking about.” He exhales roughly. “Remember how we found out I had magic?”

One eyebrow arches. “You were attempting to protect the Pack and blew a crater in the ground when you pushed back a group of hunters,” Derek says. “You half-buried them in the dirt you blew at them.”

“Right. Stress-induced Emergence of a very strong earth magic,” Stiles says. He wiggles the fingers of his good hand, and he can feel the earth respond to him. “That’s my innate Talent, being able to draw on the earth, but overall, I’m a Mage,” he says. “I do ritual magic. And there are different kinds of Talents: Clan, Mage, Healers, Empaths, and Dreamwalkers. Some other things, too, and some unique Talents when people Emerge without having a family Lineage behind them.”

“Clan are shapeshifters,” Danny says. “There are different kinds. Full shifters, or single types of animals. The Hale Pack comes from a unique lineage.”

“I have no idea what Clan is.” Derek’s gaze darkens. “We’re werewolves, nothing more than that.”

“That’s the story you’ve been told. My family happens to be the keeper of your history.” Danny exhales, and Derek’s head tilts, nostrils flaring as he catches some scent in the air. “We’re Healers,” Danny says, lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers. “We have the ability to magically heal a body, and some of us have the capability to give pain instead of healing. One of them fell in love with a Clan girl a long time ago, and they started the Lineage that’s your family line. The Talents merged into something that became more like a fairy tale werewolf, and the Hales chose to take on that name and recede from the world of Talent overall. My family watched over them. We’ve always been in Beacon Hills, and we’ve always been a part of you, whether you knew it or not. And most of the lore’s been forgotten by the Hales—what little remained burned in the fire. But we’re still here for you.” He flashes a grin, his dimples showing. “Mahealani means moon.”

Derek blinks slowly.

Stiles covers his hand. “I think he’s going to need time to parse this, and yes, Derek, I’ll give you all of my own research regarding Talents so you can have a basis for your understanding. But right now, we need to talk about what I ran into, and what we’re going to do about it.”

Both Derek and Danny sober abruptly.

“What did you run into?” Derek asks. “Is this part of your lore and Talents?”

Stiles winces because he hates having to admit the truth. “I don’t actually know. I don’t even remember exactly what I was doing when it happened.”

A soft growl under Derek’s breath.

This is going well.

“Jackson and Scott went out to look around,” Danny says, digging through the bag he carries at his hip. “Lydia went with them to make sure no one was a complete idiot, and Ethan and Jordan have officially been assigned to the case. Your dad has made sure it’s a supernatural only case.” Danny glances up. “Speaking of your dad, you might want to explain to him, too, that supernatural is a little different than he’s been thinking. The whole pack should probably be brought into the world of Talent in general, especially since there’s more to Beacon Hills than they realize.”

“A problem for later.” They’ll get to it. Right now, Stiles wants to make sure no one dies.

Danny pulls out a file, and a slim book. The file goes to Stiles, and the book to Derek. “A copy of the case file,” he says, then, “And my mother’s journal. Her history of the Hales for the modern era. I have more books, but this is her telling of the story, that she gave to me and to my siblings. We should have been there for you better after the fire, but by the time everything got sorted, you and your sisters were already gone. My mom looked for you, but she couldn’t find you.”

Derek takes the book carefully, holding it as if it were glass.

Stiles looks away to give him privacy, using the case file as a distraction. He flips it open and skims through it, pausing when he gets to a set of photos. “I was in the high school?” He glances at Derek, who is staring down at the still unopened notebook. “Was I meeting up with you?”

Derek shakes his head. “I’d gone home. I didn’t know you were—” He looks up, stands quickly. “I’m going upstairs.” He retreats, the book cradled to his chest.

“He hasn’t changed much,” Danny murmurs.

Stiles smiles slightly. “He hasn’t, but he has. He really cares about the Pack, and he’s created this space for them. There are so many of us now, and it’s sort of a home for wayward Talents. And in a lot of cases, people who are Emergent, or didn’t know they were Lineage, or don’t even know why their life is as weird as it is.”

“It’s time to tell them,” Danny says.

“Yeah.” Stiles looks back at the papers, and tries to remember that night.

He’d left work. He remembers that—working late, and texting Derek to let him know and asking him to take care of dinner. He has a vague memory of a planned Pack night, but he can’t remember if it was supposed to be then or not. So he left work and… and… oh.

Stiles reaches for his phone, struggling to balance the folder and unlock his phone all with one hand. But he finds what he was looking for in his email and turns the phone around to show it to Danny. “It’s this,” he says quietly. “She’s probably still in the school, if she didn’t run off, and she’s probably even more scared than she was.”

The message is a private message from one of the boards he’s on for wayward Emergent Talents, from AislingAnew: _I’m afraid. I can feel it inside of me, and sometimes it burns in my bones and I’m afraid to touch anyone. I don’t have anywhere to go. I’m sleeping in the boiler room because my family kicked me out. My girlfriend won’t talk to me anymore. I’m so scared, and I’m afraid that the next time it happens, I’m going to burn myself alive._

Stiles remembers his response now, one short message: _I know somewhere safe for you. I’m coming to get you tonight._

He doesn’t fully remember meeting Aisling, nothing more than a flash of bright green eyes and a hand reaching for him, then a look of horror as he felt his body start to burn.

Danny holds the phone, looks at it. “She’s a Giver of Pain,” he says quietly. “An Emergent one, it sounds like, and not in control.”

“I’ve got more messages from her, and it sounds like she’s also from a very strict family, and they thought the devil was in her when she was younger, and tried to suppress it,” Stiles says tightly. “I’m not sure it’s just the one Talent. I think she has a very unique, and probably terrifying to her, Emergent ability, and she needs help.”

Danny sets the phone on the table next to Stiles. “Do you think she’s still staying at the school? You were found on the steps, and she wasn’t anywhere around.”

“I can ask,” Stiles says. He grabs his phone and struggles through using one hand to carefully tap his way through logging on to the forum to send a private message. “She’s scared. She’s probably even more terrified now.”

_I’m okay_, he sends. _I’m okay, and I’m not angry at you. I know your Talent is controlling you more than you can control it right now, and I understand. I’ve seen my best friend nearly kill someone because he didn’t know how to control the beast inside of him when he was your age. I’d like to try again to help you. There are a group of us—many different kinds of Talents, from Clan to Mages and we even have a Healer now—and I think we might be able to help you stabilize. We’re also starting to work with other Talents here in Beacon Hills. If I send people to the school, will you be there?_

He presses send on the message and waits. Danny has his own phone in his hands and is typing quickly, probably making his own arrangements.

The reply comes after only five minutes.

_I thought you were a Dream and I was scared, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I need help. I stopped going to classes, I’m just sleeping in the basement, I’m really confused about everything. Can someone help me?_

Stiles shows it to Danny, who nods.

“Me and Lydia,” Danny says quietly. “I’m going to pick up my sister Aimee on the way, and her best friend Ronnie. She’s an Empath.”

The best friend, Stiles assumes, since Aimee’s probably a Healer like Danny.

_My friends are coming to get you,_ he sends. _Everything’s going to be okay_.

#

Her name is Aisling Grey and she’s sixteen years old. She Emerged as something that seems to be a cross between a Giver of Pain and a Dreamwalker three weeks ago, while in the middle of making out with her girlfriend. She lost her family and her girlfriend in one night, and she’s been living in a terrified Dream fugue ever since.

Ronnie is a tiny black woman who is still a student at Beacon Community College, but she promises that Aisling can stay with her and Aimee for the time being.

Derek welcomes them all to the Pack.

The evening turns into one of the largest Pack gathers in recent history. All the original members who are still alive are there, along with the parents. Peter behaves, while Liam and Hayden manage to get into an argument loud enough to be heard outside. All the newest Pack members are there, and when Stiles counts, he thinks there are easily thirty people, if not more once Danny’s siblings and parents arrive.

Derek spends much of the time sitting out back with Mrs. Mahealani (_call me Eileen_).

The wolves and Mahealanis take turns stealing away Stiles’s pain, but by the end of the night, he still aches and feels as if he could tip over at any time. There is an unheard signal, and the Pack drifts away slowly with promises to keep tabs on the newest members, and stay close to the Mahealani family and their new Dreamer.

Derek carries Stiles upstairs in the aftermath, lays him gently on the bed and strips him down to his boxer briefs. It’d be sexy, except Stiles is too exhausted to do anything more than lie there as Derek curls into the space beside him, heavy and warm, one hand over Stiles’s heart.

“I did not expect our Pack to grow by that many people today,” Stiles murmurs.

“You almost died,” Derek growls softly.

“You found out you have relatives,” Stiles counters.

Derek hmphs. “You almost died,” he mutters again. “You need to tell me when you’re going to do something stupid.”

“I was helping a teenager and I was going to bring her home to our Pack, where she’d be safe,” Stiles says. He tries to lift his left hand, but the cast is too heavy, and he grumbles in frustration. “I wanted to let my dad know, but after the fact. I wanted all the facts before he tried to send her back to her parents, in case they were a problem. Which they were. Besides. If it hadn’t happened that way, you wouldn’t know—”

Derek mumbles.

“Hm?”

“She knew my mother.” His words are muffled. “She was younger than her, but she knew her. And Peter. And my aunt Jessica, who died in the fire. She knew all of them, even if they didn’t really remember her. She told me about them tonight, and we’re going to talk more. About Clan and Talents and about where my Lineage comes from.”

“You have family out there.” It hadn’t really occurred to Stiles that that could be the result of Derek learning about Clan. It had never even been on the radar that there would be more of them, somewhere. That he’s related to people he’s never met.

“I have family,” Derek agrees with a soft, content rumble. “We’re going to find them, and I’m going to meet them, and understand our differences. And our similarities.”

“And we’re still going to have our Pack.” Because that’s important, that they keep this safety net. This found family that they’ve built around themselves.

Derek kisses the top of Stiles’s head. “We’re still going to have our Pack. This just gives us the chance to have more.”

Maybe Stiles should’ve been more forthcoming in the beginning. He still has a lot of information to sort through—how does Lydia fit into a Talent Lineage, and where did so many of the people in their Pack actually come from. But they can work with this, and maybe they can reach out to other Talents. Find a way to create a new network to help keep them all safe.

Because in the end, they’re all still Pack, no matter what Talent they actually are.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me (mostly silent) on Tumblr as [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and on Pillowfort as [tryslora](https://www.pillowfort.io/tryslora). I also write original fiction! If you like my fic, you might like my original twice-weekly series [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com) (also mirroring on Pillowfort at [Welcome to PHU](https://www.pillowfort.io/community/WelcomeToPHU)).


End file.
